Seven weeks into a life that began early and under fire, the twins Raghad and Raad carry in their wasted bodies a story the war in Yemen keeps writing again: families driven from mountain villages on foot, parents who can no longer afford milk, and a hospital that must choose which fragile children it has room to hold. Their fight in a crowded bed in Aden is one small, precise measure of a hunger spreading across a country where the ceasefire has given way and the means of survival have grown scarce. Whether they recover depends less on any single nurse's resolve than on a world that has so fa
Born Prematurely, Fleeing War: Yemen's Twins Fight Malnutrition as Conflict Deepens Hunger
Twin infants Raghad and Raad have severe acute malnutrition after their family fled Houthi fighting on foot, and parents are unable to afford food, milk, or medicine.
A shepherd without a flock, a family sleeping on the street
Mark
Why does this one family stand for something bigger?
Mimi
Because their route is the same one many are taking: flight, hunger, then a hospital that can't take everyone. The UN counts more than 250,000 displaced since the ceasefire collapsed.
Mark
The twins were already premature. How much of this is the war?
Luke
That's worth being careful about. The report links the illness to the walk, the cold and dust, and to milk prices rising after the war. It doesn't give a medical breakdown of how much each factor mattered.
Mimi
What's clear is the diagnosis, severe acute malnutrition, and that Bajash sometimes had only water to give them.
Mark
The hospital has 22 beds but admits 13. What does that mean day to day?
Mimi
Only the most critical cases get in. A mother with a malnourished baby was turned away while the reporters watched.
Luke
Staff attribute the limit to funding, staff and equipment shortages. No figures on the funding gap are given.
Mark
And the children who return?
Mimi
Dr Mohammed says some come back within days, even the same day, because families can't afford nutrition, vitamins or antibiotics.
Luke
That's her account from the ward, not a measured readmission rate. And we don't know how the twins are doing now. Lina's answer was only 'God willing.'
Le Pouls
- Two premature twins, barely clinging to life, were carried three days on foot from Houthi fighting to a hospital in Aden.
- The malnutrition unit has 22 beds yet admits only 13, and the doors of its pink wards are padlocked against the overflow.
- Baby milk has grown so expensive that a father sometimes can only give his babies water, and the fortified milk they receive is often vomited back up.
- A supervising nurse squeezed two infants into one bed, buying a little time while the wider crisis tightens around a half-million children expected to suffer severe malnutrition this year.
- With the ceasefire collapsed and Taiz cut off, the family's future hangs on a funding gap that shows no sign of closing.
Seven weeks into a life that began early and under fire, the twins Raghad and Raad carry in their wasted bodies a story the war in Yemen keeps writing again: families driven from mountain villages on foot, parents who can no longer afford milk, and a hospital that must choose which fragile children it has room to hold. Their fight in a crowded bed in Aden is one small, precise measure of a hunger spreading across a country where the ceasefire has given way and the means of survival have grown scarce. Whether they recover depends less on any single nurse's resolve than on a world that has so far left the funding gap open.
Raghad Hassan and her brother Raad are seven weeks old, born prematurely just as the war in Yemen flared again. When Houthi fighting reached their village in the Kahboub mountains, the family of seven fled under bombs and drones, carrying little more than blankets for the twins.
They walked three days toward the port city of Aden, finding no transport until the fourth day, when one driver agreed to take them. The babies grew weaker along the way, worn down by cold, dust, vomiting and diarrhoea. At al-Sadaqah hospital, doctors saw that the twins were little more than skin and bone, and Raad was the sicker of the two. Their father, a shepherd who had left his flock behind, said he had often been able to give them only water because milk had become unaffordable.
Inside the hospital, their father hurried from desk to desk chasing an admission. A supervising nurse who had herself fled war found two beds in short supply and put the twins together in one. Their mother fed them sips of fortified milk, though Raad could not keep it down. Asked if she believed they would recover, she said quietly, "God willing."
The malnutrition unit has 22 beds but can admit only 13 of the most critical patients, short of funding, staff and equipment. A young doctor admitted that some patients are lost, given the lack of ventilators and oxygen. Many families return again and again, unable to afford food, vitamins or antibiotics. The family's three older children waited without toys or bedding, and that night they slept on the street. The twins' survival, and the hospital's capacity to help others like them, depends on a war and a funding gap that show no sign of easing.
Raghad Hassan and her brother Raad are seven weeks old, and for all of that time they have been fighting to stay alive. They were born prematurely, just as the war in Yemen between Houthi rebels and government forces surged again. When the Houthis reached their village in the Kahboub mountains in the south-west, the family of seven fled under bombs, missiles and drone attacks, with only blankets to shelter the twins.
They headed on foot for the port city of Aden. The walk took three days. "We didn't find cars or transportation," says the twins' father, Bajash Ali Sagir Hassan, a softly spoken shepherd. On the fourth day one person agreed to drive them, while others refused. Their mother, Lina, says the babies grew weaker along the way, worn down by cold and dust, with vomiting and diarrhoea getting worse.
By the time the family reached al-Sadaqah hospital in Aden, the twins were barely clinging to life. A doctor looked at their wasted limbs and said they were just skin and bone. Raad was the sicker of the two, his ribs showing and his chest heaving with rapid, shallow breaths. He was barely bigger than the hands of the nurse who carried him to be weighed. Bajash said the twins had been fed twice a day, but sometimes he could give them only water, because the war had pushed up the price of baby milk. The diagnosis came quickly: severe acute malnutrition.
Hunger did not arrive in Yemen with this war, but it is spreading with the latest bloodshed. The United Nations says about 800,000 people can no longer receive lifesaving aid and more than 250,000 have been displaced since an informal ceasefire collapsed in the summer. The Houthis have since advanced rapidly along the Red Sea coast and have completely cut off Taiz, Yemen's third largest city, where the UN says civilians are at grave risk and short of food because of soaring prices. The internationally recognised government is fighting back with the help of Saudi air strikes. Even before this escalation, the UN projected that half a million Yemeni children would suffer severe acute malnutrition this year.
Inside the hospital, Bajash rushed through corridors chasing an admissions slip. The reporters saw another mother with a malnourished baby turned away. He found an ally in Aisha Ragab, a forceful supervising nurse who had herself fled the war in 2018. "I feel for them, because I have already lived through the situation myself," she said. Two beds could not be found, so she resolved to put the twins in one and persuade the doctors. Within an hour they were lying together on a single bed. Lina fed them sips of fortified milk from a tiny bottle, but Raad could not keep it down. Asked whether she thought they would recover, she answered quietly, "God willing."
The malnutrition unit, with its pink walls, has some doors padlocked shut. It has 22 beds, but staff said only 13 patients are admitted at a time, the most critical cases, because of a lack of international funding, staff and equipment. Dr Noor Mohammed, a young doctor, said plainly that patients are lost. She cited the absence of ventilation machines and oxygen bottles, and said many laboratory tests are very hard to carry out.
The unit works like a conveyor belt. As one baby leaves, another arrives, and some return quickly, after a week, two days, or the same day, because parents cannot afford proper nutrition, vitamins or antibiotics. Dr Mohammed said every family there has come because they have no money or insurance and cannot afford a private hospital. She says she does her best, and that she cries for them.
Bajash is now a shepherd without a flock; he left 10 sheep behind, his only livelihood. While doctors watched the twins, he looked after his three older children, all under five, who waited on a bench in reception with no toys, bedding or bags. They could not sleep there, so the family spent the night on the street. Whether the twins recover, and whether the hospital can find room for others like them, depends on a war and a funding gap that neither shows signs of easing.
Citations marquantes
Sometimes a child comes back to us after a week, or two days. Sometimes it is the same day.— Dr Noor Mohammed, al-Sadaqah hospital
I feel for them, because I have already lived through the situation myself.— Aisha Ragab, supervising nurse
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